The Only Exception
by Riverdancekat09
Summary: Something shifts within the abandoned slaver caves, and Cassidy Hawke can only hope she holds her balance. It definitely won't be easy... Set during Act II, major spoilers.
1. Changes

**AN: **Many thanks to all who reviewed the first incarnation of this story-I hope this reboot doesn't disappoint anyone! Bioware owns all-depressingly-I'm just borrowing.

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><p>They were losing this fight. The onslaught of shades and corpses was relentless; the magnitude of Hadriana's own spells had knocked Cassidy off her feet more than once. Her head had cracked painfully against the stone floor for the third time, and she was only saved from a shade's painful dismemberment by Isabela's quick intervention. The pirate's daggers had made short work of the creature, but she'd paid for her uncharacteristic selflessness with a wicked slash from the shade's claws as it was banished back to the Fade. Cassidy healed it as best she could, but her meager skills were nothing compared to Anders's. And he had been left to his own devices in Darktown.<p>

Fenris fought as though a man possessed. He paid no heed to the spells Hadriana threw at him, didn't seem to care if his blade cut through her barrier spell. Cassidy, Varric and Isabela fought tooth and claw to clear the room of the abominations Hadriana summoned, to give Fenris just a little more time to strike down his hated enemy. But they were running out of time to give him.

A shade struck a lucky blow on the back of Varric's head, and the dwarf crumpled almost instantly. Isabela sprang to the dwarf's defense, but her daggers were just a fraction too slow, and the shades backed her into a corner of the room. Cassidy lost sight of the trademark blue scarf, and felt the first, icy tendrils of defeat sluice through her veins like cold poison. _Oh Maker, someone please help me, _she prayed silently, desperately. Her eyes found Fenris's back. He'd finally broken through Hadriana's magical defenses, but two more shades were closing in on his unprotected back. Cassidy put all her remaining effort into a freezing spell that would catch both shades before they reached the elf before collapsing against the wall. _Maker help us all._

_Take Courage, _came the gentle answer. _I hear you._

* * *

><p>Fenris almost groaned in relief as he felt Hadriana's heart give way under his crushing grip. He'd felt the healing surge of Cassidy's magic whip through him, and for once, he hadn't minded. It had given him the strength and time he'd needed to strike down his old tormentor. But after it was done, all he felt was a void where the satisfaction of revenge should have been. Anger flared, hot and instant, at this small pleasure being denied him. He lashed out at his mage leader, hating her for one enraged heartbeat, hardly knowing what he was saying. It must have been hurtful, for she finally drew back as though he'd struck her. He fled back to Kirkwall, ashamed and angry, seeking the only solace he knew how to find.<p>

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><p>"You all right, Hawke?" Varric asked.<p>

Cassidy tore her gaze from Fenris's retreating back and forced herself to smile jocularly at her best friend. "Yeah, I always like a blood bath first think in the morning," she joked, pointedly scrubbing gore off her face with her sleeve. "Come on, let's get out of here. Aveline will be wondering if she'll actually have to work during her patrol with Donnic."

Clearing out the raiders on Aveline's patrol gave Cassidy time to think. She tried not to dwell on Fenris's angry, bitter words, but they haunted her all the same. _"What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?"_

But Fenris's continued hatred of mages—including her, much of the time—was nothing compared to the extra presence that seemed to stand vigilant within her very soul. She hadn't intended to call a Fade spirit with her desperate prayer in the cave, but one had come all the same.

_Courage._

The thought had not been hers. Cassidy stilled utterly, senses tingling as she reached out to the other presence within her. She ducked into an alley for some resemblance of privacy. "What are you?" she whispered, half fearful, half reverent.

_Courage, _the presence repeated patiently. _You called. I came. I will help you now._

Cassidy knew what she needed to do. The Hanged Man wouldn't be crowded yet this time of day, and Isabela was just where the mage thought she would be. "Isabela, I need you to do me a favor…"

* * *

><p>Fenris was waiting for her when Cassidy arrived home, Isabela's favor in her hands. For a split second, Cassidy caught an unguarded glimpse of him. He looked…profoundly unhappy, she realized. His head rose at her approach, and then he stood.<p>

"I've been thinking about what happened with Hadriana," he began without preamble. "I—took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was not myself. I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," Cassidy assured him, setting her burdens down on the floor to sit beside him.

"You are generous," he replied, with a rare, self-deprecating smile that quickly faded. "When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep." He turned away from her. "Because of her status, I was powerless to respond. And she knew it." His customary scowl darkened his face. Cassidy had the mad thought that his angry, vengeful expression was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen. "The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now…I couldn't let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn't."

Cassidy frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"This hate," Fenris continued, almost to himself, "I thought I'd gotten away from it. But it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who planted it inside me…it was too much to bear." He shook himself slightly, as though realizing where he was. "But I didn't come here to burden you further." He turned to go.

Every sensible instinct Cassidy possessed told her to let him go with a wave and a gentle quip to make him smile. He was hurting, that much was plain. But no one should hurt alone.

Cassidy threw all caution to the wind. No one ever achieved anything by being sensible all the time, she reasoned madly. She closed her fingers impulsively around his elbow, right at the gap in his armor. "You don't have to leave, Fenris," she blurted.

Fenris whirled at her touch. The lyrium in his veins surged to life, filling the hall with its eerie, beautiful glow. His face was within a hand's breadth of hers, close enough for her to see the anger and pain smoldering in his green-gray eyes.

And then his lips were on hers—brief, challenging. He pulled back, and something…else flickered to life in his face.

That was all it took. Longing roared through Cassidy's body as she jerked his hips against hers. She hungrily pressed her mouth against his, hoping to convey through her kiss what she couldn't seem to with words. Everything else faded into insignificance in the wake of the fire that leapt to life between them.

The initial wave of heat subsided long enough for them to come up for air. Cassidy searched Fenris's face; he searched hers. He brushed his thumb over the swoop of her cheekbone, more tenderly than she would have ever thought him capable of. "Last chance, Cassidy," he warned huskily. It was the first time he'd ever used her first name. "Command me to go, and I shall."

Cassidy pressed her cheek into his calloused palm. The lyrium under his skin sang against her senses, just below the range of normal hearing. She turned her gaze to him and felt a giddy smile pull the corners of her mouth upwards. "The entrance hall is probably not the best place to continue this," she pointed out, leaning forward to brush his lips lightly with hers. Her fingers tightened their grip on his armor. "We should probably move upstairs."

Fenris's tender, wicked smirk was all the answer she needed.


	2. Side Effects

The cold, empty bed was the loneliest thing Cassidy had ever seen. Numbly, she dressed herself as dawn crept into the room in muted shades of gray. The linen robe she wore at home was missing its sash. She dimly recalled tying it around Fenris's wrist in a fit of romantic fervor, right after they finished their pleasure but before he fled her bed.

Her breath hitched painfully as she dragged a hand through her hair. No matter how she tried to make light of it to herself, Fenris's desertion had carved a hollow pit in the bottom of her chest that air alone couldn't seem to fill. Almost angrily Cassidy shook the rumpled sheets into order, tucking them firmly under the mattress and wishing she could tidy her rat's nest of emotions as easily. Wishing she could have convinced him to stay. Or wishing she had strangled him—she wasn't quite sure.

Cassidy choked down a frustrated shriek as she shed the linen robe and pulled on her mage's robes. The rest of the household was still abed as she slipped out into the Hightown morning. Her satchel was still in the entrance hall—she shook herself sternly as she remembered the favor she'd asked from Isabela the night before. She had other issues to worry about besides untangling all these _feelings_.

* * *

><p>She'd hoped she could master her newfound abilities without her fellow apostate's help, but her ultimately practical nature wouldn't allow her to squander any resource of information, even one as…unstable as Anders. Books and treatises could only tell her so much—the paltry knowledge she'd gleaned from those stale tomes hadn't prepared her for the new brilliance of colors, or intensities of sounds, or the constant awareness of a <em>something else <em>somewhere _inside _her magic. As much as she hated to admit it, Anders was the only one she could turn to.

The symptoms began almost as soon as Cassidy stepped into the Darktown clinic. Her skin itched as though hundreds of ants marched below the surface. Nausea hit the bottom of her stomach as though she'd swallowed an anvil. The headache began in her temples and settled into her every bone. And somewhere within her _self_—Cassidy couldn't really tell if she heard it or felt it—Courage began to scream.

-_Wrong wrong wrong wrong WRONG!—_

Cassidy fought to contain the spirit's distress as she approached Anders. "I need to talk to you," she began hesitantly, as cold sweat began to soak her skin and her chest began to constrict. Up close, it was as if she saw him through fogged glass—a distorted image, almost two of him.

Anders slowly lifted his head from the salve he was mixing, mabari-brown eyes already giving way to the angry, flashing blue that heralded Justice's takeover of his control. "You feel it, don't you," he accused softly. "You feel how hard it is to keep control of that _other _in your mind."

"Anders, I—"

"So how can you call me abomination now?" he demanded, not letting her speak. "How can you condemn all I do in the name of Justice for mages like Grace and Alain? _How dare you judge me, Hawke?"_ The quiet intensity gave way to an enraged shout as Anders dashed the incomplete salve against the clinic wall.

Cassidy winced as the impact resonated against her very being. The clammy itch beneath her skin threatened to claw its way outward, and she struggled to keep control in the face of this strange not-abomination that was Anders. "All I came to say, Anders," she ground out, "was that until I have better control over this, we probably shouldn't work together." She forced herself to meet his eyes, and immediately wished she hadn't.

The image seared itself onto her mind's eye like a brand. She saw Anders engulfed in blue flames, head thrown back in a continuous, silent scream. She couldn't tell if he was in agony, or ecstasy. Perhaps it was a bit of both. The blue fire formed chains, linking him inextricably with a vaguely man-shaped form that was all at once _made _of the flames and _engulfed _by them. Although it had no discernible face, its posture seemed to mirror Anders's exactly. The chains wrapped around the two figures, forming tight coils that seemed to constrict with every passing moment, pulling them closer and closer together until she couldn't see where one figure ended and the other began.

It was torture, plain and simple, and she couldn't bear to watch any longer. With a harsh gasp, Cassidy came back to herself and forced out an approximation of her customary sarcastic smirk. "I don't think Justice and Courage play well together."

A succession of anger and sadness flickered to life behind the telltale blue glow, and then was gone. As if with two voices, Anders agreed, "That would be best. I'll send a message if I need anything."

She nodded wordlessly and practically ran from the clinic, fighting to keep the tears from spilling over her lashes. She took the sewer shortcut back to her mansion, managing to avoid Oranna and Bodahn as she flew up the stairs, into her bedchamber, and shut and locked the door behind her. Only when she was certain she was alone did she allow herself to collapse against the wall and weep in earnest for man and spirit, the excruciating pain they were in, and the bone-deep fear she and Courage would share their fate.


	3. The Only Exception

It had been a week and no one had seen her. If it hadn't been for Bodahn and Oranna, Fenris would have been convinced that Hawke had left Kirkwall altogether. But the two servants assured him that Mistress Hawke had not left the city, that she likely had private business to attend to, and yes, messere, we will tell her you came to see her. Even Oranna shed her customary timidity to deliver this message the eighth day Fenris dropped in to check. He had the whimsical thought that at least he was giving her ample practice fending off unwanted visitors.

That was the trouble, and it was driving him mad. Hawke didn't want to see him. The realization hurt more than he expected.

"Message for you, messere!"

Fenris turned just in time for a small boy to hand him a crossbow bolt. He stared at it, baffled, until he recognized the brightly-dyed fletching that marked it as one of Varric's bolts for Bianca. The means of delivery was unconventional, but the meaning was plain: Varric wanted him to come to the Hanged Man.

The Hanged Man at midday was rarely crowded. Varric was lounging at his favorite common room table when Fenris walked in. The dwarf's customary smirk was firmly in place. "I was hoping you'd do me a favor, elf," he stated bluntly. "I think you might be the perfect man for this job."

Fenris sat in silence, waiting. If Varric knew anything of what had occurred between him and Hawke, he gave no sign.

When Fenris didn't reply, Varric sighed and continued. "Hawke's been acting pretty strange lately—if I didn't know any better, I'd say she was brooding. Finally tracked down where she's been going. I can't get up there myself; I'm a busy man. But I'm concerned she's not brooding right. Thought you might go and give her some pointers. Like going off to the Wounded Coast without telling anyone to brood is dangerous. Champion brooder like you might go tell her that."

For once, Fenris didn't object to Varric's teasing. He nodded to the dwarf and took his leave.

Varric stared after him in shock, then realization. The dwarf chuckled gleefully as he scribbled something down on a sheet of parchment. He _knew _this development would be worth watching. Provided, of course, that they hadn't already fucked it up beyond saving.

* * *

><p>The sun was setting by the time Fenris reached the Wounded Coast. The salt wind whipped through the scrubby plants, stirring their leaves restlessly. The path Hawke had taken was marked on the rocks in chalk, just as Varric had promised. It led to a small cave—little more than a hollow between two large rocks, really. Hawke sat to one side, mostly protected from the strong wind. Her hands glowed with what Fenris had come to recognize as her healing magic; he could just barely see the pages of a book fluttering in her lap. She was coming all the way out here—<em>alone<em>—just to study her spells?

Fenris almost didn't notice the flock of small birds that skittered out of the cave, each illuminated with the glow of Cassidy's magic. Her face froze in shock when she saw him approach. Mage and fugitive stared at each other, neither willing to bridge the chasm of silence first.

"Varric sent me to give you brooding lessons," Fenris finally deadpanned. "He seems to think you're doing it incorrectly."

Cassidy snorted and returned her attention to the book in her lap. "Since when is studying considered brooding?" she retorted.

"Since you're coming all the way out to the Wounded Coast, alone, without telling anyone," he snapped.

"And yet here you are," she pointed out, still not looking at him.

Her hands were shaking, he noticed. "Hawke, I—"

"I'm glad you're here, actually," she interrupted. "I have something I need to tell you, before I tell the others." She faced him, finally, and there was a stoic tautness to her expression he'd never seen before. Like she was steeling herself for an unpleasant task.

All his rehearsed admonitions shriveled on his tongue. "Tell me," he commanded softly. He crossed the sand to sit cross-legged beside her. Close up, he recognized the book she held. "Isn't that one of the books from my mansion?" he asked curiously.

"Yes," she answered simply. "I asked Isabela to borrow it for me."

"What for?"

"It—had some information I needed," she explained haltingly, and that expression he hated snuck onto her face. But her eyes flashed, and it was gone. "Fenris, my magic has changed," she declared hurriedly. "I have a spirit inside me now, but I'm not a blood mage or an abomination, but if this changes how you feel about m—working with me, I understand and no hard feelings and you can go if you want. I took the book because I needed to know how to distinguish demons from spirits and I'm sorry and you can have it back if you want it."

He took the book she thrust into his hands only by reflex as he struggled to process her strange confession. "You have a spirit inside you?" he repeated slowly, as realization dawned. "Like the apostate?"

She nodded, expression wary.

His instinctive hatred and anger flared. "And you say you're not a blood mage or an abomination?" he demanded incredulously. "What have you done?" He felt impossibly betrayed.

Anger flashed in her eyes. "I haven't _done _anything," she retorted. "I've spent the last week trying to understand what's happened to me before I tell any of the others. Especially you." Her stare was almost accusatory. "I've spent the last week making sure I'm not dangerous, or crazy, or both. I've spent the last week praying I won't end up like Anders. And I've spent the last week trying to figure out how this new _thing _works." She took a deep breath to calm herself. "Like I said, if you can't work with me anymore because of this, I understand. I'll see about getting you passage out of Kirkwall, to anywhere you want to go."

Fenris stared into her face, seeking any hint of madness that would give him the excuse to leave and never look back he suddenly, desperately wanted. But it was just Cassidy looking back at him. A nervous Cassidy, an angry Cassidy, and just a small bit of a hopeful Cassidy. Whatever spirit was within her, she wasn't possessed by it. "When?" he asked softly, still angry with her.

Her expression hardened against the hurt. "As soon as you figure out where you want to go," she replied, rising to brush sand off her robes.

Fenris shook his head impatiently and tugged her back down. "No. When did this happen?"

Some of the tightness in her face loosened, and she might have smiled. "It was during the battle with Hadriana," she began. "You were…um, too busy to notice, but that fight did not go so well. It was everything Varric, Isabela and I could do to keep the shades and corpses off your back so you could get to Hadriana. I'm not blaming you," she interrupted herself, holding up a hand to forestall his angry retort. "I'm just telling you what happened. That bitch deserved what you gave her, and more." She met his eyes and he saw some of his own anger reflected there. "Anyway. Varric and Isabela were both down. I wasn't much better off." She looked away from him. "It was the first time since we left Lothering that I'd really felt like I might die. That the people who depended on me might die. So I prayed."

Fenris hated the haunted look that snuck through her eyes, hated himself even more for his selfishness. "Yet here you and I sit, and I saw Varric and Isabela this afternoon in the Hanged Man," he pointed out. "What happened?"

"Something answered my prayer," Cassidy replied simply. "Something heard me, came to me, and I was able to heal both Varric and Isabela, and have a little leftover for you." A ghost of her good-natured sarcasm tinged her smile. "You probably didn't notice, but you were not your usual picture of impeccable form and discipline during that fight." She spread her hands. "So that's it. I've got a spirit inside me that helps me keep my friends alive when they're pursuing a vendetta. I didn't ask for it—not directly, anyway—and I'm a better healer because of it, and we can stop taking Anders on especially dangerous missions. I call that a win-win-win." Her lopsided smile invited him to joke with her. Begged him to joke with her.

He couldn't. "What manner of spirit is with you?" he demanded. "What manner of creature will you become if you lose control? What will I have to kill to set you free from its grasp?"

Cassidy's smile faded to be replaced by weariness. "I don't think Courage is like Justice," she explained tiredly, leaning against the cave wall. "And I don't think I'm like Anders," she continued softly. "I hope and pray I'm not like Anders. I can tell where I stop, and Courage begins. My soul and Courage may live in the same body, but we're not intertwined like Anders and Justice are. I still know who I am." Her eyes closed and she leaned her head back until it barely touched to cool stone of the cave. "Praise Maker and Prophet, I still know who I am."

She didn't seem to be speaking just to him anymore. Fenris had the distinct feeling that he was hearing the results of many arguments with herself. He looked at her, smooth face upturned, eyes closed, utterly still, and felt some of his anger fade. Not all, but enough for him to lay a gauntleted hand on her shoulder and turn her to face him. "I'll stay for as long as you have need," he promised. "Come—Varric will be worried."

They walked in companionable silence for a little while, the elf half a step behind to make room for the ever-present staff. It hung on her back, a potent reminder of all that she was. Their night together had been a thing born of pure heat and the tumultuous aftermath of Hadriana's death. For a heart-stopping moment, he'd been able to forget that she was everything he hated. But her magic was as much a part of her as his hate was a part of him. The staff and robes attested to that much.

And now…now his memory of that night was as much a part of him as his hate was. Fenris wasn't sure which would prove stronger in the end; all he knew was that it certainly wasn't hate that compelled him to stay. He could no more walk away from Kirkwall now than he could swim with an anchor strapped to his feet. "Varric's right, you know," he said lightly, just to say something.

Cassidy half-turned, her lopsided smile restored in full force. "Oh?"

"You don't brood correctly. Always brood where other people can see you. The effect is ruined otherwise."

She grinned at him. "And how would you know?" she teased. "I thought you didn't brood."

And then it happened.

The gold light from the setting sun caught in her dark hair, bounced off her shoulders, refracted through the decorative gem on the end of her staff. Her silhouette burned into his memory. The set of her head, the flash of her smile that finally reached her eyes, and the constant, soft buzz of her magic that smoldered in her soul and made his lyrium skin prickle if he stood too close—they all coalesced in one warm moment of perfect clarity as she stood there, illuminated by the sunset. Something settled softly into place as he released just the smallest piece of his ever present distrust and hatred for mages and cast it into the past, making room for just one extraordinary exception.


	4. Mother Daughter Moments

**AN:** This one turned out to be shorter than expected, but I guess when the ending feels right, it's right. Thanks to everyone who's read up to this point, and thanks especially to Witchy Bee for reviewing!

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><p><em>The green door looked freshly painted, the house miraculously untouched by the horrors of the Blight. <em>

_ It was a dream. It had to be._

_ Lothering burned around her. Acrid smoke filled her lungs. Grass withered to ash beneath her boots as she slowly stepped forward. The green door swung open of its own volition. The house beyond was impenetrably dark. She dreaded stepping into that inky unknown. But Lothering was burning._

Do not be afraid.

_The command was a familiar one by now—one that came from that _other _presence. The vision of Anders surged unbidden from her memory—she could not chain another being to such agony, even one as willing as Courage seemed to be._

No chains bind me. I came freely, and I stay freely.

_The darkness inside the doorway seemed to yawn, to draw her in, though she stood frozen in place as Lothering continued to burn. _I am afraid, _she admitted. _I am afraid to use this. _The image of chains and fire was vivid in her memory. _

_Courage was silent—all she could hear was the roar of the fire behind her._ It has to be your choice, _the spirit finally said flatly._

_ She stood frozen in indecision as the flames consumed Lothering behind her. The greedy tongues of flame began to lick at the untouched house. She felt her heart clench in anguish as she saw her home threatened a second time. One boot inched forward, followed by the second, then the first again, until she was slipping into the darkness. _

_ The green light began as a small thing, no bigger or brighter than a candle's flame. It grew until it illuminated the whole room. Including its occupant._

_ The red sash around his wrist flared against her senses as he held out his hand. "Do not be afraid," Fenris commanded gently as his eyes flashed green with spirit fire._

* * *

><p>Cassidy snapped her eyes open, shaking free of the dream with a sharp gasp. Dawn curled its pink fingers through the gap in her curtain, illuminating a thin sliver of the otherwise dark room. She swung her legs out of the bed and stood unsteadily. Mechanically she splashed water onto her face and pulled her linen house robe over her small clothes, forgetting the sash was missing.<p>

"You're awfully quiet this morning, darling," Leandra observed over breakfast.

Cassidy pushed her plate aside and pillowed her head on the table. "I miss Father," she finally replied.

Leandra looked surprised by the admission. "So do I, but what on earth made you say so now?" she wondered. "You're not feeling ill, are you?"

Cassidy smiled tiredly at her mother's fretting. "No, Mother. I just—I miss his guidance, that's all."

Leandra rose from her chair and put her arms around her surviving daughter. "Oh darling," she murmured, "he will always guide you."

For the first time in recent memory, Cassidy allowed her mother to smooth the crow-black hair out of her eyes. The words dropped past her lips before she could reconsider them. "Something's happened to my magic," she confessed, "and I wish Father was here to help me understand it."

Leandra recognized the tears thickening Cassidy's voice, and only tightened her embrace. "I'm sorry I can't do more to help, my heart," she said softly.

She felt Cassidy's tears subside as suddenly as they had come, and felt a small sense of loss as her daughter gently extricated herself. "Tell Oranna thank you for breakfast," Cassidy muttered, sniffing slightly. "I've got bandits to roust. Or something equally vital and tedious."

"Father used to make you meditate when he knew you were upset," Leandra mused pointedly as she cleared breakfast away. "Surely bandits or something equally vital and tedious can wait an hour?"

Cassidy suppressed the adolescent instinct to argue—Leandra was right. "I'll ask Bodahn to tell Aveline I'll be late," she promised, turning to go back upstairs.

"Cassidy?"

"Yes, Mother?"

Leandra's expression could only be called a smirk. "Where's the sash for that robe?"


	5. Guys 'n' Dolls

Three reproachful stares confronted her as Cassidy stepped into Aveline's office. She did her best to ignore them as she fanned out the stack of letters and notes requesting her assistance. "Looks like we'll be busy this week, lady and gents," she began gamely. "These run the gamut from the Alienage up to the Viscount himself, so—"

"Save it, Hawke," Aveline interrupted firmly. "You've got something to tell us."

"Starting with why you puked all over Blondie's clinic and then disappeared for a week," Varric put in, looking as serious as Cassidy had ever seen him.

"Or why you went to see that _abomination _in the first place," Fenris growled.

"He's not an abomination," Cassidy argued weakly, "and I never puked."

"You defend him now?" he barked in furious surprise. "I doubt he would thank you for it." His face hardened into deadly purpose. "It doesn't matter. If he has harmed you, he will be made to answer." The joints in his gauntlets clicked together menacingly as he clenched his fists at his sides.

She glanced from one face to next, her gaze finally settling on the flash of red cloth tied around Fenris's wrist. Her dream echoed in her memory, and she suddenly found it difficult to distinguish between Courage's voice and Fenris's as the familiar words swept through her.

_Do not be afraid. _

Cassidy inhaled slowly. "I wasn't hurt," she began, and the rest of the story unfolded almost naturally as she told her friends the truth—even her vision of Anders that still made her soul tremble with anxiety. A heavy silence settled over the small office like thick fog as she finished.

Varric was the first to break it, letting out a low whistle. "Gotta hand it to you, Hawke," he chuckled, looking awestruck, "you make storytelling a piece of cake." He winked encouragingly at her. "Don't worry about Blondie—he's so busy with his clinic he probably won't even notice we've stopped inviting him to things."

"You'll let me know if he hassles you again," Aveline added. Her tone made it an order, not a question. "I won't say I like this, or even understand it, but I feel better knowing it's you at my back."

Cassidy smiled gratefully at her fellow Fereldan, feeling some of her trepidation fade. She didn't dare look at Fenris—even when silent, his fury was a palpable thing that threatened to choke the fragile bond of their friendship. She shook herself slightly and tried to continue with her intended purpose with a modicum of normalcy, as if his opinion wasn't suddenly the one she most wanted to hear. "Most of these requests are—shockingly—coming out of Lowtown," she said with a wry approximation of a smile. "Varric, if you and Fenris can start chasing some of these down, Aveline and I can handle the Viscount. We'll catch up to you by midday."

Fenris curled a hand around her elbow as she prepared to follow Aveline and Varric out of the barracks. "You should have told me earlier," he rebuked her softly. Anger tightened the corners of his eyes, dropped the timbre of his voice to a barely audible rumble.

"I know," Cassidy murmured shamefacedly. "I'm sorry." She lifted her head and fastened her gaze to his. "Does it change anything?"

He was silent for a strained, stretched moment as he searched her face for something only he could see. "No," he reluctantly admitted, looking deflated. "No, it does not." His grip on her elbow softened, and he might have said more, except that Varric called for him over his shoulder.

"Come on, elf! Lowtown isn't gonna save itself!"

"More's the pity," he muttered sourly. He turned away too quickly to see the quick, rueful grin flash across her face.

* * *

><p>"Seriously, Hawke, are you sure you're all right?" Aveline asked in a low voice as they made their way up the stairs.<p>

"And why wouldn't I be?" Hawke joked feebly. "Maybe I'm just happy for some girl time."

"Girl time which consists of doing whatever the Viscount wants and then leaving me here while you traipse around solving other people's problems?" she snorted skeptically. Her vivid green stare was uncomfortably shrewd. "Talk to me, Hawke," she urged, more gently. "What's going on between you and Fenris?"

"What? Nothing!" Cassidy exclaimed, startled into honesty.

"He was wearing your sash on his wrist," Aveline pointed out dryly. "That's the strangest 'nothing' I've ever seen."

"I don't know what possessed me to give him that, of all things," Cassidy mumbled sheepishly. "Even my mother noticed."

Aveline's jaw dropped incredulously. "So you _are _sleeping with him!"

The mage shook her head firmly, feeling acutely miserable. "We have slept together," she clarified glumly. "Once. Past tense. Not likely to be repeated."

"So he wears your sash … why, exactly?" the captain of the guard asked tartly.

"I wish I knew," the younger woman admitted, looking lost and _too young_ for the first time since they'd stepped off the boat together. But then Cassidy shook herself and gave Aveline her customary lopsided grin. "Come on—the Viscount's impending crisis might explode without us if we don't hurry."

* * *

><p>"You know, elf," Varric said lightly, "there's a fine line between brooding and sulking. And you've been on the wrong side of it since we left Viscount's Way."<p>

"I don't brood," Fenris snapped reflexively.

"But you are sulking? Well, at least you're big enough to admit it."

He could learn to hate that perpetual, knowing twinkle in the dwarf's eye, Fenris decided. "I'm not _sulking_," he ground out.

Varric snorted. "Uh-huh," he grunted skeptically. "Don't even pretend you're not itching to pay Blondie a visit, which, by the way, you shouldn't. Ever." The twinkle grew more pronounced as the dwarf continued to smirk, looking mysteriously triumphant. "And while we're playing not-pretend, we could not-pretend that that tiff with Hawke wasn't anything more than your usual, ah, charming attitude toward mages."

Fenris shook his head in deepening confusion as he tried to untangle the dwarf's twisted insinuations. "I'm not pretending anything," he finally snarled impatiently.

Varric looked inexplicably smug, and Fenris had the distinct feeling he'd just given away exactly what he was looking for. "That's what I thought," the dwarf chuckled.


	6. The Fade

**A/N: **Warning: Long chapter ahead; I hope it makes up for both my prolonged absence and the possibility that I might not get another chance to update before the end of the semester. Reminder: Bioware owns everything, and I'm super grateful they don't object to letting people like me play around with the awesome work they do.

Also, I'm 2/3 finished with my *ahem* FOURTH play-through of DA II, and am considering finding a Dragon Age Anonymous group to join. At least until the third game comes out.

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><p>A reverent hush slipped through the Alienage as Keeper Marethari descended the rough-hewn steps. The leaves of the Venedahl rustled softly, casting speckled shadows over the courtyard. Cassidy tactfully drew her friends to the rear of the crowd as the Alienage elves each paid their respects to the Dalish leader. Marethari embraced Arianni like a daughter and the younger woman sagged in relief into the Keeper's arms. "Come," she said solemnly to Cassidy. "We have much to discuss before the ritual begins."<p>

* * *

><p>The Gallows were utterly—unnaturally—silent. Fenris gradually opened his eyes, squeezed them shut again against the disorienting, unfocused blur of the Fade. He felt a small hand descend gently on his shoulder and he spun blindly to face this new, unseen danger.<p>

"It's just me, Fenris," Cassidy's familiar voice laughed. "Try to focus on something solid. We'll find Feynriel a lot faster if you have your eyes open."

Her amusement at his discomfiture stung. The lyrium in his skin felt like cold metal in his veins and his entire being screamed at the wrongness of standing in this mage's realm, in a mage's presence, with only a sword between him and the myriad temptations of every demon in the Fade. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed, but Fenris finally forced his eyelids open. Hawke was eyeing him with poorly concealed amusement; Varric didn't even bother hiding his customary smirk. Only Aveline looked as uncomfortable as he felt. "We cannot tarry," he growled urgently. "Let us find the boy and be done with this place."

It was not long before a demon noticed their presence. It slithered forward, radiating malicious delight at finding such easy pretty. "Two forgotten magics in one day," it purred. "And the Fade is usually such a quiet place."

"Do not listen," Fenris hissed in Cassidy's ear. "It is a demon, sent to test you."

"Thank you—my mage senses hadn't started tingling yet," Cassidy drawled back with patient sarcasm. She didn't give the demon a chance to make its insidious offer; an arc of frost shot from the end of her staff to freeze the demon in place while Aveline battered it to pieces with her shield.

Cassidy unerringly led them through the twisted chambers of the Gallows. Fenris couldn't name the sensation that jolted up his spine and curled low in his belly as he realized she was in her element. He expected to feel angry, betrayed, _anything _except confidence and _trust _in a mage, in this mage's realm. His cheeks heated in embarrassment as he belatedly realized Cassidy had truly not needed his warning at all. Embarrassment quickly gave way to anger as he remembered her amusement at his expense. "Why am I here, Hawke?" he asked abruptly as they moved from room to room. "You obviously do not need me to sway you from temptation, so why bring me at all?"

She glanced at him in surprise. "Because I need you," she answered simply, as if it should have been obvious. "We have to hurry—I don't think Feynriel can hold on much longer."

Cassidy felt Courage's presence as though the spirit dwelled just beneath her skin, waxing and waning with the pulsing currents of the Fade. She felt her bones hum as the spirit led her closer to Feynriel and the demons that held him captive. Her magic pushed outward against the raw, magnetic power Feynriel's nightmare world created, even as Courage pulled her closer to the source. Cassidy wavered between determination and anxiety as she allowed the spirit to guide her.

_Do not fear, _Courage intoned, and Cassidy thought she could detect a reproachful tone beneath the familiar words. _I am of this place—I will not lead you into danger._

_Do you miss it? _Cassidy asked curiously. She'd finally mastered the trick of communicating silently with her spirit companion, though outside of the Fade, it was much more difficult and the effort taxed them both.

_Sometimes, _the spirit replied. _We face two demons of great power—I cannot tell you more. I am sorry. Be cautious._

"What are we even looking for?" Aveline asked. Cassidy felt a pang of guilt at seeing the older woman's obvious discomfort.

"Two demons hold Feynriel captive in dreams," she answered. She stilled completely and let the ebb and flow of the Fade guide her senses. "There's one behind the door there, and there." She gestured with her staff at the sturdy doors on either side of the Gallows courtyard. She picked a door at random and led the way through. Alarm spiked through her as she abruptly found herself alone—a glance at her hands revealed she was no longer wearing her own form, but Arianni's. Cassidy fought down a surge of panic and forced herself to look at her surroundings.

Feynriel's Antivan father—Vincento, Cassidy remembered—stooped over a young blonde boy, offering guidance as he formed unsteady letters with a quill. "Had I known you were such a quick study," Vincento chuckled, "I would have brought you with me years ago."

_A desire demon_, Courage supplied contemptuously. _Speak quickly—its hold on the boy grows strong._

Arianni's voice carried Cassidy's words as she pulled Feynriel free from the demon's grasp. To her immense relief, her companions reappeared at her side immediately after Feynriel escaped. Her relief was short-lived, however, as the demon's hungry gaze settled on Aveline. Unease slithered through her as Cassidy stood by while the demon it wove its poisoned promises. Aveline stumbled forward, obviously enthralled by whatever vision the demon showed her. Cassidy reached for her arm, only to have Aveline whirl on her with her sword drawn.

Cassidy cast reflexively—ice and fire shot from the end of her staff in rapid succession, until there was nothing but empty space where Aveline had been standing. Shock kept the full impact at bay while she assisted Varric and Fenris in clearing the rest of the room.

Varric and Fenris looked as shaken as she felt. "Did not see that one coming," the dwarf remarked with a nervous chuckle.

"The sooner we are gone from this place, the better," Fenris added. "We must move on, Hawke."

She nodded bleakly and led them across the courtyard. "Be on your guard," she warned, and felt her face twist in an attempt at a smile. "I'd like to not repeat that."

His body felt like lead. Everything ached, as though returning from the Fade had rattled his bones apart. He felt someone's arm behind his shoulders, gently lifting him off the floor. He had a vague impression of armor and red hair. Aveline.

"My boy!" Arianni cried. "Is my boy all right?"

Fenris squinted to bring the room into better focus. "What happened?" he asked thickly.

"You've been sent back to your body," Marethari informed him gravely. "The Guard-Captain awoke shortly before you did."

"Varric—Hawke—"

"They are still in the Fade." The Keeper gestured towards the two figures arranged as comfortably as possible. "With the Creators' blessings, they will return soon."

Fenris felt sick as memory returned in a rush. He'd spent a lifetime hating mages—believing them to be no more than shells too weak to contain their own devastating power. He'd spent a lifetime watching the magisters make bargains with demons for any advantage. He'd spent a lifetime certain that no mage would even try to resist the poison promises demons whispered.

And he'd betrayed the one person who had managed to make a lie out of a lifetime.

"_Venhedis_ _faasta vas!" _ Fenris swore as he struggled to his feet. Confusion made his head reel, rooted him in place—torn between his acute desire to be _away _and a need to know Cassidy was safe that was still too new to feel comfortable, all he could do was stand there, clenching and unclenching his fists.

After what felt like an eternity, Cassidy began to stir. Relief swept through him as her eyes fluttered open, as she rose from the floor and stretched stiff muscles. Fenris stood, transfixed to the floor, as she delivered Feynriel's farewell to Arianni, as she accepted Keeper Marethari's amazed congratulations. He wanted nothing more than to approach her, to know she was real, to be certain she was not possessed, or hurt, to apologize—why couldn't he _move_? He barely heard Aveline offer her apology, barely heard the stilted apology that dropped from his own lips. His jaw clenched against the flood of shame that welled within him as Marethari spoke of weakness—_his _weakness.

Fenris could finally bear no more. He needed _air_; he needed _space_; he needed to be _alone_. He bolted from the Alienage and into the freer air of Hightown. Cassidy's red sash glared against his wrist, as though in rebuke. He slammed the door of his borrowed residence and tore the scrap of fabric from his arm, clenching it in his fist. The desire to cast it into his fireplace warred with the urge to clutch it close to his chest, to press it to his face and catch any lingering trace of her scent—

"I thought I'd find you here."

Fenris looked up sharply, unsure if he should be glad Cassidy followed him, or angry that he hadn't noticed he was being followed. "Why are you here, Hawke?" he asked acidly.

"You're the only one of us who speaks Qunari," she replied coolly. Her gaze strayed to the loose scrap of red cloth he still held in his hand. Her face slid into a strange, wide-eyed grimace of a smile. "Red not your color?" she asked, the corners of her smile already slipping downward.

The bubble of tension seething under his skin swelled until it burst. "I could have _killed _you!" Fenris shouted. "And you jest about the color of some—some _fabric_?"

"Well, technically you could have just made me Tranquil, but—"

"_Venhedis, _woman, is that not the same thing for a mage?" he ranted. "Is that not why that _apostate _slid a knife into his friend's belly?"

"I'm an apostate too, you know—"

His tattoos began to glow in his agitation as he gripped her forearms. "I could kill you now," he growled, "and yet you do nothing to stay my hand. _Why_?" He shook her by the shoulders, as if violence would convey what mere words could not. "Why are you here?" he demanded again.

Cassidy locked her gaze to his. Her face was so close he could see every nuance of emotion that danced across it. "I came to apologize, Fenris," she said softly.

He released her in surprise, barking a bitter laugh. "I prove myself to be as weak as the magisters I've spent my life hating, and you apologize to me?" he asked incredulously.

"I should have prepared you better for that place," she explained. "I'm sorry, Fenris."

His anger drained out of him, leaving only weary resignation. "It is I who failed you," he sighed, turning toward the fireplace. He held out the red sash. "I do not understand what this token means, but I do not deserve it."

Fenris's arm ached with the effort of holding still. He felt hot tears prick under his eyelids as the scrap of linen was pulled slowly from his open hand, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Snapped them open again when he felt a gentle tug on his wrist.

Cassidy smiled softly into his baffled stare as she wrapped the sash back around his wrist. "What can I say," she joked wetly, and there were tears in her eyes, "I think it looks better on you than it does on me."


	7. I Told You So

**AN:** Some straightforward hack-and-slash is good for the soul, or so I hear. Varric would probably agree. I apologize to those of you waiting for angst-you'll get your fill next chapter. As always, thank you for reviewing! Enjoy!

I own nothing-Bioware owns all.

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><p>Seneschal Bran didn't give them much to go on. "Hanged Man after dark" encompassed nearly everyone in Kirkwall engaged in disreputable business. Cassidy was fairly certain the seneschal's so-called tip wouldn't be worth much at all.<p>

She'd thought the Hanged Man couldn't surprise her anymore, after three years of almost nightly debauchery. But as the inebriated boasts reached her ears, Cassidy had the feeling she should have known better. Aveline scowled darkly, emerald green stare hardening as she recognized the man. "Orwald," she supplied angrily. "Maker, I'd hoped Bran was wrong about one of my recruits."

"Do you want to thrash him yourself, Captain?" Cassidy teased her. "Or is that not allowed under official sanction?"

Aveline shook her head vehemently. "I think I'll go join Varric for a drink," she mused nonchalantly, pointedly not looking at Orwald as she climbed the stairs to the dwarf's rooms.

"She does know I'm right here, right?" Varric hissed to Cassidy.

"Subtle she is not," she agreed with a fond smile. "Time to thrash, I suppose."

The brawl didn't last long— Isabela abandoned her customary post at the bar to join in the fray; the flash of her daggers further discouraged a prolonged battle. Orwald's drinking companions declined to defend him in the face of serious opposition. "Why me?" he whimpered piteously. Blood dripped into his mustache and he leaned as far away from Cassidy's staff as his prone position would permit. "What do you want? All I did was what he told me!"

"You're off to an excellent start," Cassidy encouraged, her pleasant tone underscored by the menace of her staff. "He who?"

"A Templar—he was a Templar!" Orwald stammered. "He said I was serving the Maker! He even had the seal of the Grand Cleric. I swear," he whined when Cassidy thrust her staff closer under his nose, "I swear that's all I know. True is true."

Cassidy withdrew her staff and dismissed him with a sharp gesture. She did her best to ignore the foreboding chill that trickled down her spine. As if from a distance she heard the steady clink of Aveline's armor as the Guard-Captain returned.

"Chantry involvement," Aveline mused incredulously, exchanging a worried glance with Cassidy. "Now what?"

"Obviously we drag the Grand Cleric out of her bed for a midnight interrogation," Cassidy replied flippantly.

"That would be unwise," Fenris advised dryly.

"The scary this is, I'm not sure she's joking," Varric laughed.

"This is serious, Hawke," Aveline said reprovingly. "We have to step carefully around this one."

"Fine, fine. It's too late to do anything tonight." Cassidy pushed her hair out of her eyes, teeth worrying her lower lip. "Flames," she finally swore. "I'm getting a drink. Anyone else want one?"

* * *

><p>Morning dawned bright and piercing, stabbing into Cassidy's throbbing head with a vengeance usually reserved for angry deities. She groaned and dragged her pillow over her head, squeezing her eyes shut against a wave of nausea. She didn't notice the telling click of the door opening, or Puck nosing his way into the room until she felt the hound's solid bulk beginning to gradually inch her out of bed. She sat up to shove him away, only to have the mabari lunge for the pillow she vacated and curl up on top of it. He panted beatifically, impervious to her baleful, red-eyed glare. Cassidy surrendered the bed with bad grace, dragging a brush through her tousled hair and attempting to rinse the fuzzy, foul taste out of her mouth. Having achieved his objective, Puck flopped clumsily off the bed and followed her into the kitchen.<p>

Varric sat with her mother at the small, round table that dominated one wall. "Good morning, darling," Leandra greeted her. "You were out so late I was certain you'd be abed for hours yet."

Cassidy glowered suspiciously at her mother before turning her attention to Varric. "You're here early," she observed flatly.

"Aveline sent me," he replied amiably. "She knows you love me the most so you're less likely to cast a fireball at my head. We're implicating the Grand Cleric in the disappearance of a Qunari delegation today, so be sure you look your best." His smirk turned to a full-fledged grin. "The ale stains don't really go well with the image I think you're going for."

Cassidy glanced down at her robes and cursed dispassionately as she stomped up the stairs to freshen up. Varric's grin widened as he recognized some of Fenris's more inventive Tevinter oaths. "Listen, Hawke," he began when she descended again, "about you and Fenris—"

"I didn't know there was a 'me and Fenris,'" Cassidy interrupted.

"Right, because the sash on his wrist and the long soulful looks scream 'just friends,'" he drawled. "I don't know what went down—"

"_So _glad Isabela isn't here—"

"—but any details you feel like sharing would be appreciated," he finished as if she hadn't spoken. "Now hurry up—Aveline threatened to send her boy-toy after us if I didn't have you at the Chantry an hour ago."

"Right," she said, too brightly. "Grand Cleric to accuse. Can't be late for that."

"Hawke."

"What?"

Varric's customary smirk had softened. "I'd kick his ass," he offered gently, "if I thought it would help."

Cassidy swallowed past the tightness in her throat and forced a smile. "Varric, you know I only settled for Fenris because Bianca's already spoken for."

The air inside the Chantry was still and hushed, the footsteps and whispers of the supplicants disappearing into the awed silence. The reds and golds splashed across the old Tevinter architecture, the radiant eye stitched across the crimson banners stared down as indifferently as the Maker himself. The Eternal Flame glowed against the giant golden likeness of Andraste. It was an empty place; awe and avarice in equal measure and a poor substitute for comfort and reverence.

Fenris growled in recognition as the robed figure peeled away from the wall to greet them. Cold blue eyes stared piercingly from a pinched, narrow face topped by hair nearly as pale as his own. The woman moved with the sinister grace of a viper.

He stood close enough to her to feel Cassidy stiffen, to see her turquoise gaze harden as connections began clicking together. "Sister Petrice," she said pleasantly, her smile not reaching her eyes.

"It's Mother Petrice now," the woman corrected sanctimoniously. "What business brings you here?"

"Viscount's business," she replied brightly. "Is the Grand Cleric able to talk for a moment?"

"The Grand Cleric trusts her representatives to act for her," Petrice answered smoothly. "I can guess why you're here. You seek the Qunari delegate, yes?"

Cassidy dipped her chin in a nod. "I wish there was a delicate way to say this, but we have a…witness who's pointing the finger at a Templar."

Petrice sighed and shook her head, looking as though she had been expecting such an accusation. "Your witness is correct," she said regretfully. "He speaks of Ser Varnell, my former bodyguard. He has been…acting on his own against the Qunari."

"My witness said Varnell had the Grand Cleric's seal," Cassidy continued carefully.

"Troubling, but not surprising. I have heard his followers discuss a gathering taking place in the Undercity." Paper crinkled as Petrice pulled pulled a sheet of parchment from her sleeve. "I've marked the location here—I'll meet you there."

Varric coughed ostentatiously. "That's a set-up."

* * *

><p>The last wave of Varnell's fanatics fell with a whimper in the wake of Cassidy's spells. The siren call of the Fade subsided as the battle gradually diminished. Corpses cooled and sank into the Darktown muck—the Qunari delegate among them. Cassidy gingerly nudged a body with her boot and heaved a sigh. "Well, Varric," she remarked, "when you're right, you're right."<p> 


	8. What's She Got that I Ain't Got

Cassidy fought to keep her hands from trembling as she pushed open the door to Anders's clinic. Even bolstered by weeks of exercises, meditations, and training, she felt woefully unprepared for facing the burning reality Anders and Justice endured. Anxiety twisted her stomach into intricate knots, tightened her grip on her staff into a white-knuckled ache. She risked coming alone only because there was no real alternative, not after she had divulged the details of her vision to the others.

_This is wrong, _Courage moaned. _**They**__ are wrong. Man and spirit are only chains and fire—we risk their madness._

_ I know. But we must do this._

The mid-afternoon light cast hazy shadows into the relatively clean space. Anders's patients milled about, waiting their turns. The symptoms were more subdued this time—Courage's resonant distress felt dulled, muted; she pushed past the nausea and headache and approached her fellow apostate.

Anders regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, as though deciding whether or not he should be angry with her on principle. "You've been practicing," he finally observed, a grim, approving smile hovering around his mouth.

Cassidy avoided his gaze, though she returned his thin-lipped smile. "Meditation helps," she replied amiably. "Your message said you needed my help?"

He responded readily to her prompting; she wondered if he experienced any of her discomfort. "Have you noticed how many new Tranquil are in the Gallows lately?" he began urgently.

Cassidy's eyes widened as Anders outlined his suspicions, told her his plan. If he was wrong, it would mean death—or Tranquility—should they be caught. Her soul quailed at the thought of the sunburst brand being pressed into her forehead. But if he was right…dear Maker, _if he was right_—

"We can't go without reinforcements," she heard herself say, as if in agreement with his mad scheme. "We need the others, any who are willing. I'll return at sundown—I _promise_," she added fiercely, when he looked poised to argue. "Don't even think of doing this on your own."

Fenris felt anger and disbelief tighten within him like a bowstring. It was folly, what she spoke of. That she ignored the risks of associating with that _abomination _was dangerous enough; that she wanted to assist him felt like rank poison. To ask the same of her companions—to ask the same of _him_—was a bitter betrayal indeed. He held himself still beside Varric's hearth, not trusting himself to move, to even speak. He refused to meet Cassidy's eyes as the debate buzzed around him.

"He's on his own," Aveline said flatly. "I can't believe you're even considering this—two apostates, breaking into the Gallows after dark? You'll both be Tranquil before sunrise."

"It's a possibility," Cassidy allowed quietly, and Fenris noticed her hands shook as she clasped them together. "A small one, if this secret passage approach works. But still, a possibility."

"Andraste's ass, Hawke, think about this for a second," Varric argued. "You're talking about a gigantic conspiracy to force every mage in Kirkwall through the Rite of Tranquility. I like Blondie but even I think he's gone off the deep end on this one, and let's not forget what you saw the last time you visited him."

"Trust me, I haven't," Cassidy muttered darkly. Varric's suite seemed to shrink around her. She rose and leaned on the large, sturdy table, frowning as she struggled to put her tangled thoughts into words. "This isn't about Anders," she began hesitantly, "or freedom for mages. As far as I'm concerned, this is just one more job. I want to chase down this lead—anyone who wants to join me is welcome."

Fenris snapped his gaze to her face as the table exploded into argument. The soft features had frozen into a stubborn mask—she paid no more attention to Varric's and Aveline's cajoling than he did. He chuckled bitterly, knowing his decision had been made before she had even opened her mouth. Apparently, the freedom to choose left him no choice but to follow her, if only to protect her from her own foolishness. "You will do this no matter what we say," he accused her, though it lacked heat.

She met his gaze squarely and nodded once. "I won't ask—"

"Enough," he sighed wearily. "I will join you. With any luck, we'll only be taken for thieves and not conspirators."

Varric chuckled as he hoisted Bianca to his shoulder. "Let's just not get caught," he suggested.

The steady, muffled slosh of Kirkwall's noxious sludge punctuated the tense silence as Anders led them through the sewers out of Darktown. Fenris barely noticed Cassidy as she fell in step beside him. He refused to name the miasmic black cloud that gathered in the back of his mind whenever he remembered her willingness to aid that _thing_.

"A copper for your thoughts," Cassidy murmured, close enough to make the lyrium in his skin sing discordantly.

_Where to start? _he thought wryly, glaring at the back of Anders's head. "I do not like this," he finally answered. It seemed an expedient way to give voice to his myriad objections.

"I don't either," she whispered, glancing nervously ahead. Dark, fatigued circles bruised the skin under her eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand.

Fenris seized upon her obvious discomfort. "We don't have to do this, Hawke," he said insistently.

"Feel free to turn around," she retorted coolly, her chin jutting forward obstinately.

Fenris rumbled impatiently, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her to face him. "I will not abandon you to face the Templars with only that _thing _at your back," he said fiercely. "I said I would stay as long as you had need of me."

The crow-black hair drifted into her eyes as she searched his face for any hint of mockery. Her features softened as she gently extricated herself. "For what it's worth," she said softly, "I'm glad you're here."

They heard the voices echoing off the passages as they drew near to the Gallows. "That's him," Anders hissed. "That's Ser Alrik." He lengthened his stride, coat snapping sharply behind him.

"Anders, wait!" Cassidy shouted. She surged to catch him, tripping over her robes.

A dark-skinned girl in apprentice robes cowered before the bald, bearded Templar. She whimpered as she tried to explain why she left, tried to plead for her life. The Templar leered at her, a predatory glint in his eye. Fenris felt sick as memory surged; the players were different, but this scene might have been played with any magister and slave in Tevinter.

"I thought the Chantry frowned on Templars who take advantage of their charges," Cassidy drawled acidly. Lightning crackled behind her eyes and the air around her seemed to freeze.

Blue fire and black smoke billowed from Anders's shoulders. Fenris's skin tingled into numbness in the face of so much raw _power_—shock turned his blood to ice as he realized some of it came from Cassidy. His ears rang with tinny dissonance as the Templar readied one of the many abilities designed to neutralize mages. Fenris scythed his way forward and dealt the man a hard blow to his head with the hilt of his sword. Alrik staggered, concentration broken—Cassidy cast quickly to take advantage of the distraction and Alrik crumpled under the weight of an invisible prison. The entire chamber smelled of lyrium and something that reminded Fenris of the Qunari _gaatlok_. His lungs burned; every breath felt like he was drawing in poison.

Anders's eyes glowed blue as he pounded the short blade of his staff through Alrik's skull once—twice—and the Templar lay still. He advanced on the girl who still cowered against the passage wall. "Get away from me, demon!" she shouted.

"I am no demon!" Anders protested angrily. "Are you one of theirs, that you would call me such?"

"Anders, _stop_!" Cassidy cried frantically. She scrambled to reach his side, to pull him away from the terrified apprentice.

He whirled on her. "This is a creature of the Templars," he thundered, Justice moving his mouth like a puppet's. "I can smell their taint on her!"

Cold fury settled into Fenris's chest as he watched the two mages argue. Slowly, he made his way to Anders's unguarded back, and tightened his grip on his sword hilt. _This_ was why he had come. _This_ was what he had warned her against. And _this _was he would protect her from.

"She's what you're fighting to save," Cassidy argued, gritting her teeth. "The Templar is dead—let the girl go."

"She must pay!" Wrath rolled in waves from his shoulders. "_They all must pay!"_ Anders—_Justice_—roared as the blue flames slashed hotly from his hands.

Fury turned to panic as Fenris watched Cassidy throw herself between him and the girl, wrapping her arms protectively around the apprentice's shaking, sobbing form. He surged forward, sword drawn, only to crash against an invisible barrier. The strange _gaatlok _smell grew more pronounced as Cassidy began to _glow_—green light pulsed from her, illuminating the entire chamber with the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. It was the eeriest—and most beautiful—thing Fenris had ever seen magic do.

The fire extinguished abruptly, and Anders collapsed. Cassidy stood cautiously, keeping herself between the frightened apprentice and his almost-victim. He knelt, torso bent almost double as he cradled his head in his hands. "What have I done?" he moaned. The mage girl stared at him over Cassidy's shoulder, brown eyes wide with terror. He stared wildly, as if noticing his surroundings for the first time. "I—I have to go," he rasped. He pushed past Fenris and Varric, disappearing into the sewers.

Fenris rushed to steady her as she swayed on her feet, relieved to find that no barrier obstructed him this time. "What in the Void were you _thinking_?" he shouted furiously. That he was relieved to see her unharmed only served to stoke his anger higher. The fierce, possessive need to protect—to _keep—_strained his fragile hold on his control to breaking. "What possessed you to do such a reckless, foolish thing?"

She pulled away from his grasp and helped the rescued apprentice to her feet. "I had to, Fenris," she replied wearily. She crouched beside Alrik's body and yanked a leather folder out of his belt. "We have what we came for. I hope."

Varric gallantly offered his arm to the rescued apprentice. "They'll be at it a while," he informed her with a wink. "Maker, I hate it when Mommy and Daddy fight."

Without Anders's guidance it took them much longer to reach Darktown. The girl they'd rescued—Ella, she introduced herself—curtsied her thanks. "The Maker Himself must have put you in that chamber," she insisted.

Fenris snorted impatiently and opened his mouth to speak, but Cassidy nudged him in warning. "With Alrik gone, the Circle is probably the safest place for you," she suggested gently. "I'll take a message to your parents—you said no one had told them where you went."

As soon as Ella was out of sight, Cassidy flipped open the leather folder she'd taken from Alrik's corpse. Her turquoise eyes scanned the page, and she let loose a stream of invective that would have given Isabela cause to blush. "Son of a bitch was right," she finished furiously, thrusting the pages under their noses. "Look!"

It looked like so much hen-scratching to Fenris, but Varric gave a low whistle. "What are you gonna do now?" the dwarf wanted to know.

"I'm going to show this to Anders—he deserves to know he didn't almost kill a girl for no reason."

Fenris hooked a hand around Cassidy's elbow, pulling her away from the clinic entrance. "He almost killed _you,_" he growled, "and yet you rush into danger." He released her arm, swearing in disgust. "_Venhedis_, Hawke, do you not know what he _is_?"

"And what am I?" she demanded hotly. "Maybe you haven't been paying attention, but Anders doesn't exactly have a monopoly on spirit possession anymore." She twisted angrily out of his grip and glared at him. "So what makes me so different from him?"

The question hit him like a cold slap in the face. In truth, he had avoiding the matter serious consideration. He had the feeling such thoughts would lead him in dangerous directions—paths he felt certain he could never follow. Not for Anders, not for any mage.

Except—

"It should be obvious, Hawke," he deadpanned. "You're a woman."


	9. Thicker than Blood

The shapes of the words felt wrong.

Cassidy stared sightlessly into the hearth. She rolled the words around her mouth without giving them sound, frowning as she drew them out.

_Mother _

She'd cleaned the gore from her skin, combed it from her hair. She'd even used the perfumed Orlesian soap Leandra had favored.

_Is_

Puck whuffed softly as Gamlen's heavy footsteps made the stairs creak. "Did you find her?" Drink and worry slurred his words, and he leaned heavily on the banister.

_Dead._

Cassidy couldn't find the will to be angry with him. The words rolled around in her head, tumbling together like stones in a swift current.

"Well, did you?"

Puck growled at Gamlen's sharp tone, but she hushed him. She didn't turn her gaze from the hearth as she said, "I'm sorry, Uncle. She's"—_dead_—"gone."

Gamlen collapsed against the wall and sobbed into his hands.

_The red stain spread across the filthy burlap like an accusation. Cassidy forced herself to step forward, to shoot a cavalier smile over her shoulder at the small crowd of eyes gathered behind her. "Maybe it's a sack of gold sovereigns that just SMELLS like rotting flesh," she joked desperately. She closed numb fingers around the opening and worked it open. "Oh, Andraste," she swore softly, and hiccupped past the violent urge to retch as she examined the sack's contents. "Bones—a severed hand—oh Maker—" Cassidy gagged on a roiling tide of nausea as cold sweat gathered at her temples. "I hate to admit it, but I think that Templar was on to something." The glint of metal caught her eye, and she fished a golden ring out of the ruined mess. She rubbed it on her sleeve, wiping it clean of the rust-colored flecks._

"_Nice ring," Varric remarked. "Can I have it?"_

_Cassidy barely heard him. She turned the small gold circle over in her fingers, shaking her head sadly. "We arrived too late," she murmured bleakly._

_Ghyslain wept when she returned his wife's ring to him, and Cassidy felt the hot sting of tears prick her eyes as he conjured a specter of happier times._

"You were right about the flowers, and now-" Gamlen wept, turning reddened eyes to her face. "Why Leandra?"

It wasn't a question that needed an answer. It wasn't a question Cassidy even wanted to answer. Hate, hot and unfamiliar, boiled within in her and died to ashes on her tongue. She hated Quentin—a bloodmage and a madman. She hated herself—always one step behind.

And she hated a woman she'd never met—the woman with her mother's face. The woman who had died, to leave her husband with nothing but an obsession and the warped to talent to forge it into reality.

_Cassidy crumpled the forged note into a tight ball and led the way out of the Gallows, where the ferry waited. Anxiety crawled along her skin like worms as the small vessel bobbed toward the docks, agonizingly slowly. She cast a worried glance toward the setting sun, and squeezed her fist tighter. __**Please let us be in time,**_ _she prayed desperately. __**Please let us not be too late.**_

_She felt Fenris's presence at her back like a whisper. "Who sent the note?" he wondered quietly, echoing her own troubled thoughts. "DuPuis is dead—who else would have sent it?"_

_ Cassidy shook her head helplessly. "Emeric's investigation made a lot of waves," she mused._

_ "His obsession made a lot of enemies, you mean," he translated dryly._

_ She grimaced, conceding the point. "He was right about Ninette," she pointed out, "and DuPuis. And now—"_

_ "We'll find him, Hawke," Fenris interrupted her firmly, laying a hand on her shoulder._

_ She glanced at the red cloth still tied around his wrist and fell silent, accepting his clumsy gesture of comfort._

_ They arrived in time to see the monstrous shade slash at Emeric's throat. The Templar crumpled, dead stare rolling reproachfully till they met Cassidy's eyes._

_ "We're too late!" she shouted angrily, just as the Fade burst open and more shades poured into the abandoned alley._

Cassidy felt like a puppet on a string as she slowly lifted herself out of her seat in front of the hearth. She didn't recognize her own voice as she said matter-of-factly, "Mother's gone—will knowing why make a difference?"

Gamlen shook his head as if to clear it, dragging a shaking hand through his hair. "No—it will always seem senseless, won't it." He stared blindly into the fire; a muscle clenched in his jaw and for a moment, he looked exactly like Carver. "Where's the monster that did this?" he demanded tightly. "Tell me you killed the _freak _that did this to my sister."

Cassidy looked at him for the first time since she'd arrived home. Surprise, distant and irrelevant, sparked and guttered within her as she realized that this man, waste and scoundrel that he was, was one of two other people in Kirkwall who could come close to feeling what she felt. She smiled grimly as memory flashed. "He won't be able to hurt anyone ever again."

_ Cassidy felt as though she was fading into her magic, as though her sole purpose was to cast and cast until her foe was nothing more than a pile of dust. The Fade ripped open, and demons tumbled helter-skelter into the underground chamber. She hissed in frustration as they blocked her path to her enemy. She barely noticed the wicked claws tearing through her shield spell, her robes, her flesh. Red trickled into her eyes and the coppery tang on her tongue was the first indication she bled. Courage's constant presence felt as distant as the sky, and only when Cassidy stopped to catch her breath did she realize the spirit was trying desperately to get her attention._

-Stop the fury madness chains and fire trapped trapped TRAPPED—

_ Rage burned away abruptly, leaving guilt smoldering like warm ashes. Panic choked her as Quentin lunged for his creation—her MOTHER and began tugging her toward the exit. His pale, half-blind stare found her across the battlefield—his triumphant, death's-head smile sent chills up and down her spine. A desperate cry of loss tore from her throat._

_ Fenris whipped toward her, battle-fury darkening his gray-green scowl into obsidian. He tracked her helpless stare and understood her need instantly. The last sight Cassidy had of Quentin was the elf's blade cleaving wetly from the bloodmage's skull to his sternum._

Gamlen took a deep shuddering breath and clapped a heavy hand on Cassidy's shoulder. "I'll go make arrangements for the guard to retrieve her—her body." He sighed shakily and turned a bleary, grief-stricken stare to his niece's face. "You've done enough for one evening," he said, uncharacteristically gentle. "I'll go to the Gallows and give Carver—I'll tell him—" Words seemed to fail him and his hands slid woodenly away from her. "Take care, my dear."

* * *

><p>Cassidy stared into the dancing flames, wanting nothing more than to simply lose herself in the hypnotic, flickering glow. Time ceased to have meaning as she retreated into the numb silence of loss too profound for tears. Grief cut against her skin like finely-ground glass. She longed to join Puck in his mournful, howling dirge—human speech felt empty, and the long, haunting note seemed to swell until it filled her.<p>

His footfalls whispered across the thick carpet as he slowly approached. "I do not know what to say," Fenris began haltingly, "but—I am here."

Cassidy stared into his face, fixing her gaze to his like a lifeline. "Just say something," she pleaded, "anything."

Silence pulsed for the space of a heartbeat, before he self-consciously cleared his throat. "I've heard that death is merely a journey." He clasped his hands awkwardly, searching her face closely. "Does that help?"

Her breath hitched painfully as she tried to lie, tried to tell him that the meaningless words did something to fill the void yawning wide within her. "All that does is raise more questions," she heard herself say. "A journey to what? To where?" It hurt to breathe. "Where's my mother?" she asked in a small voice.

Fenris hesitantly reached an arm around her shoulders and slowly pulled her close, carefully negotiating her head around his spiked armor until she rested comfortably against his shoulder. "I don't know," he admitted. "To be honest, I don't see much point in filling these moments with empty talk."

Cassidy squeezed her eyes shut against the rising tide of hurt that finally threatened to spill over into the real world. "I couldn't save her," she whispered, and her shoulders shuddered under his embrace. "I was too late."

Fenris tightened his grip, pulling her closer until she was practically in his lap. He rocked her, unconsciously mimicking the motions of comfort as he murmured Tevinter nonsense into her hair. "I am here," he said again, and he may have wept as well.

_I am here_, Courage echoed, and pulsed softly just below her heart.

_ The strange, patchwork creation tumbled into Cassidy's arms, dragging her clumsily to the filthy floor. Cassidy fumbled to arrange the mismatched limbs into some semblance of comfort. She tried to summon Courage's depleted energies to try something—anything that would undo what had been done._

_ "I knew you'd come." Leandra's voice whispered weakly from the creature's mouth._

_ "Don't move," Cassidy ordered urgently, calling desperately inward to where Courage's presence flickered feebly. "We'll find away to—"_

_ "Shh—don't fret, darling." Leandra smiled gently, even as the life faded from the clear blue eyes so like her daughter's. "That man would have kept me prisoner in this body—but now, I'm free." The palm of her hand bumped clumsily against her daughter's cheek. "I'll be with Bethany again—I'll be with your father. But you'll be all alone." Sorrow flickered beneath the waxy skin. _

_ "I should have watched over you more closely," Cassidy hiccupped. "I should have—" She twined her fingers around the thing's hand, not caring that only part of it belonged to Leandra. She shook her head fiercely and tightened her grip. "Mama—"_

_ "My little girl has become so strong." Leandra shuddered with the effort of speaking. "You've always made me so—proud."_


	10. Hopeless Romantic

_The scent of roses filled the air. The stone bench felt warm from the home of the autumn sun. Distant voices buzzed pleasantly beyond the peace of the Chantry garden. Cassidy closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling a serene smile tug at her lips._

_ "You were happy here."_

_ She no longer felt startled by the sound of his voice in dreams. She only nodded contentedly. "It was home," she answered._

_ "But you have a new home now," he continued. Spirit_ _fire danced along the lines of lyrium, the green light flickering steadily._

_ "Such as it is," she laughed. Her voice held none of the brittle anger that tinged her every word lately; only a soft sadness. "The Qunari have ripped the city apart. The mages and Templars will probably pick up where the Qunari left off. And I'm an orphan. Not much of a home."_

_ "You say this because you are afraid to go back," he stated. "You wish to stay here."_

_ "Yes." She felt light, whole. Untroubled. "Did I die? Is that why you're here?"_

_ "I am here because you are here."_

_ "Why am I here, then?"_

_ "Because we need to heal." His expression was gentle as he cradled her face in his hands."Ask me," he commanded softly, green flames dancing beneath the familiar features. "__**Do not be afraid.**__"_

_ She searched his face and found no hint of an answer in the unnaturally impassive expression. "Why do you wear his face, Courage?" she whispered, only half-fearing the answer._

_ The spirit smiled enigmatically, as Fenris never had. He—it—pressed a burning kiss to her forehead and stroked a finger down her cheek. Pain blossomed along the length of her body as he pulled her close, pressed her against his chest. Her hands scorched as she tried to push him away. _

_**"Wake up," **__he commanded. "__**Do not be afraid."**_

The steady ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room, filling the late Viscount's deserted hall like a heartbeat. Aveline and her guard had escorted the rescued nobility home. Merrill and Anders were busy healing the wounded masses. And Isabela—selfish, treacherous, foolish Isabela—would never return to Kirkwall if she wanted her heart to stay where it was.

The clock pulsed, and Fenris felt his blood pulse with it.

Her skin was pale, cold, and damp. The rust-red stain of blood spread outward from a narrow rip in the center of her padded robe. The shallow rise and fall of her chest was barely detectable. Fenris watched it raptly, hardly daring to breathe for fear of disturbing the fragile rhythm. The sharp turquoise gaze was shuttered; blue veins laced the sick pallor of her face. He counted her breaths between pulsing beats of the giant clock.

Until they stopped.

Numb panic held him in place as the moment seemed to freeze. The pendulum arrested its swing; the steady, pulsing tick ground to a halt and left only a terrible, pounding silence. Fenris felt the hot breath of rage and anguish rush through him—

-and escape abruptly as Cassidy gasped harshly. Green light pooled at her abdomen like water from a spring. It bubbled out of her, until it covered her like a blanket. The _gaatlok _smell he'd come to associate with the spirit riding her hung heavily in the air. Fenris watched, transfixed, as the ugly wound began to knit closed, as she continued to gulp air into her lungs, as her body began to heal. He inched towards her, hope flaring bright and hot somewhere near his heart. He knelt, leaning closer until his face hovered scant inches above hers.

Her eyes flew open, startling him into a rapid retreat. Unease—_fear_—slowly turned his blood cold as he looked into not the familiar, laughing gaze, but into twin pools of green flame. Fenris felt his heart thud fiercely in protest as he eased his blade from its scabbard. "Courage, I presume," he growled warily. The lyrium in his veins screamed in agony, and he longed to plunge his hand into Cassidy's—the _monster's_ chest, he corrected himself.

The spirit pulled Cassidy's familiar features into an eerie, ancient smile of _knowing_. It held Fenris captive in its hypnotic gaze for what seemed like an eternity, before Cassidy's eyes fluttered shut again. Her harsh rasping eased into the steady rhythm of true sleep, one breath for every swing of the giant pendulum.

He should kill her now, Fenris knew. He had been a fool to believe the spirit lurking inside her was anything but a demon. He should end its hold on her, before it grew stronger. It would be a mercy—better that she died a hero now, than risk her becoming an abomination later. As powerful a mage as she was, such a creature would likely turn Kirkwall into bloodbath.

Still, he did not move.

The hunting knife in his belt would serve. He would give a clean death. He owed her that, for all she had done for him—and for what he had done to her.

Still, he did not move.

She was a _mage_, he reprimanded himself furiously. It shouldn't matter that she was the most strong-willed mage he had ever met. It shouldn't matter that she was the first—_only_—one he had ever trusted. It shouldn't matter that she had made him feel like he could be more than a fugitive waiting for vengeance. He had to end it now. He had to free her.

Still, he did not move.

"Is that brooding, moping, or perfectly content?" The laughter in her voice was weak, barely there, but it was _hers_. "I can't tell from this angle."

"Hawke?" Fenris called warily. He cautiously sidled closer, positioning himself so he could look into her face. "It is you, isn't it?"

"You were expecting the Grand Cleric?" she retorted archly as she struggled to rise from her prone position.

Guilt, anger, and relief boiled together in his gut to form a snarled mess that gnawed at his control like a hungry wolf. There was a strange, knowing softness in the amused quirk of her lips, in the shine of her steady, turquoise gaze that unnerved him. Even more alarming, the snarling tangle of confusion eased, and he felt an answering tenderness curl slowly inward to replace it. Fenris shied away from examining it too closely, afraid of what he might find. Innumerable, dangerous thoughts swirled in his head, turning into questions that shriveled on his tongue.

"Are you all right?" Cassidy asked, a concerned frown puckering her brow.

He shook his head to clear it—he hadn't realized he'd been staring. "Don't be daft," he snapped. "You're the one laid out on the floor with a stomach wound, and you ask if I'm all right." He clenched his fists at his sides and turned his face away from hers. "Now I know you're possessed."

"And you're irascible, stubborn, and taciturn," she shot back amiably. "Yet here we are."

Fenris's chest constricted fiercely at the familiar good-natured needling. The specter of his past and the reality of what she _was_ collided sharply, creating a jagged edge that sawed at the bonds holding him to all he knew of his life. He sensed the spirit's presence within her, lingering like a storm cloud; he couldn't quite banish the memory of the inhuman, otherworldly twist of Cassidy's lips. His hand drifted unconsciously toward the hilt of his hunting knife.

"Fenris."

His name on her lips called to another memory, one Fenris held close like a treasured jewel. The questions and doubts slowly fell away—they could wait. "That is my name," he drawled, successfully keeping all but the barest tremor from his voice.

"Look at me, Fenris," she ordered gently.

He forced his eyes away from the new, puckered scar on her abdomen and dragged his gaze to her face. The piercing stare was clear, lucid—there was no trace of the green fire that had danced through her mere moments ago. Her scrutiny whipped through him, leaving him with the feeling that she could see into the core of him.

"It's just me in here," she promised him quietly.

Perhaps she could see into the core of him, he thought. Honesty compelled him to ask, "For how long?"

The softness of her answering smile was excruciating. "For as long as you have need of me," she replied.

Dawn glittered against the shattered glass that littered the ransacked hall; the pink and gold rays sent sparkling rainbows into a chaotic, brilliant swirl. The silence stretched and grew into an all-consuming peace wholly alien to Fenris. It felt strange to realize that it was enough to know she was alive. It was enough to feel the not-quite-uncomfortable prickle of her magic against the lyrium etched into his skin. There was a nearly-tangible snap as the jagged edges of possibility severed him from some of his ever-present tension, casting him adrift. It was…terrifying. And liberating.

"Here we are," he agreed belatedly, tentatively brushing her fingers with the talons of his gauntlet.

The sun rose, and hope rose with it.

_It hurts just to wake up_

_Whenever you're wearing thin_

_Alone on the outside,_

_So tired of looking in. _

_The end is uncertain,_

_And I've never been so afraid._

_But I don't need a telescope_

_To see that there's hope_

_And that makes me feel_

_Brave._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>I think that's it, guys-I think Cassidy and Fenris are done with me for the moment. I've really enjoyed writing this; I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed it, put it on alert, and favorite'd it-you guys kept me going. Closing lyrics are from Owl City's "Tidal Wave", for anyone who's wondering. Thank you, Bioware, for creating awesome characters, and for letting us poor slobs play with them.


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